


hand prints and good grips

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stripper AU, Trope Bingo Round 4, Wall Sex, cliches and tropes ahoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh you know, just Tim Drake going undercover as a twinky male dancer. As you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hand prints and good grips

Jason likes this city. Likes the fact that it’s _not_ Gotham, that it’s all bright lights and hot people who just like to fuck and have fun and be themselves. Specifically he likes the fact that he can walk into a seedy strip club downtown and know he’s not being watched, because this isn’t Batman’s town. Oracle doesn’t have cameras on this joint. (Okay, she _could_ , and maybe she even does, but for Jason’s sake he’s going to pretend like she’s got better things to do with her time.)

This place is exactly what he needs after coming off his last case, pretty young things bringing him endless cocktails and the best seat in the house to watch the show, sticking fifties in their cute little spandex shorts and flashing that grin Roy once described as “panty-meltingly hot” as if to say _there’s more where that came from_ , pissing most of the other lecherous old pervs off. Whatever it’s his (stolen) money, he’ll throw it around however he pleases.

“Hey darlin,” he says to one of the servers as he passes by, noticing his glass has become depressingly dry. “How about a refill?”

The kid stops and turns a blinding smile on him. “Oh I’m sorry, I’m just a dancer tonight, but I can get you a server to--”

“ _Drake_?”

Jason is staring. Like, staring _hard_. Because surely, _surely_ he’s just lost track of how many vodkas he’s had, _surely_ he’s not looking at the ridiculously angelic face of Tim fucking Drake, covered in glitter and eyeliner and god knows what else. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe someone put something in his drink or that alien he and Roy took down yesterday injected him with some kind of toxin that --

Tim’s eyes widen briefly, but then that stupid, _flirty_ smile is back on his face and he’s bending down over Jason, putting his hands on the back of his chair.

“Give me money,” he says low, through his teeth.

Jason stares at him.

Tim glares pointedly, sets his jaw and yeah, that’s it, no doubt in Jason’s mind anymore that this is him. No one else can look that annoyed and pissed off and bossy in one single glare. He fumbles for his wallet and pulls out a few bills, doesn’t even check to see what they are -- he could be stuffing hundreds into the kid’s waistband for all he knows, or cares.

 _What are you doing here_? Jason mouths, because he knows Tim can read lips perfectly and because also _what is he doing here?_ Tim flashes that smile again, which really is beginning the confuse the hell out of Jason, and fucking _climbs in his lap._ Or, slides really. Slithers. Whatever, Jason can’t fucking think straight. Nothing makes sense anymore. Timothy Drake, his goddamn replacement, is _straddling him_ in the teeniest pair of spandex shorts he’s ever seen (and hey, he was a Robin, he knows tiny shorts), arching his back and writhing and no. Just _no_.

“I’m undercover,” Tim leans forward and says next to Jason’s ear, not _quite_ grinding on him, his hips just an inch or two too high for that, but the motions all the same.

“Clearly,” Jason manages to get out. He suddenly realizes his hands are just dangling there awkwardly, like this is his first time to a strip joint or something, and his instincts kick in, reminding him of the words _undercover_ and _sell it_. So he brings his hands up and settles them on Tim’s hips, smirking a little internally when the kid’s eyes get all round and big. Getting one up on the replacement never gets old, no matter what setting they’re in.

“I take it you heard about the drugs,” Tim says, hips gyrating in Jason’s hands.

“Yeah,” Jason lies. “The drugs.”

“Well don’t worry about it,” Tim mutters, slipping out of Jason’s hands to turn around, bend his back like some kind of fucking contortionist and _shit_ \-- okay, they’re doing full contact now. Okay. Right. What were they talking about? “It’s not a big deal. I’ve got it under control.”

“Says the kid in shiny spandex shorts,” Jason mutters, gripping the side of the chair as Tim grinds in his lap.

“Fuck off,” Tim says, leaning back against Jason’s chest. God, he’s like a fucking _furnace_. And he’s getting goddamn glitter all over Jason’s leather. “I already got the drop time. It’s going down tomorrow at midnight, so I only have to do this another night.”

“I don’t know,” Jason says, messing with him because it’s the only thing keeping him from thinking about how hard his dick is right now. “I think you’ve found your true calling, Red.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Shut up and pay me.”

“I already paid you.”

“Yeah, but I let you touch me,” Tim smirks. “Touching’s extra.”

Jason doesn’t point out that he already slipped him like two hundred dollars, just pulls out a couple more bills from his wallet and slips them inside, letting his fingers linger maybe a little too long than he should.

“ _Jason_ ,” Tim hisses.

“What?” He asks innocently, rubbing the inside of Tim’s hip with his thumb and watching his eyelids flutter. “Just getting my money’s worth, darlin.” Then -- and hopefully this isn’t the type of place you get the shit beat out of you for doing this, ‘cause he really doesn’t feel like busting heads tonight -- he slaps Tim’s ass for good measure. Whatever, the look on his face was worth it.

“Thanks for the dance, princess,” he laughs as Tim gets up and walks off.

Well, Jason thinks, seriously needing that refill right about now. Interesting night.

 

***

 

It’s three by the time Tim’s shift ends and he’s exhausted, sweaty, and sore all over. He never knew gyrating could be such a workout. He definitely has a better appreciation of exotic dancers now, that’s for sure. He’s so tired that when he walks out the back door of the club in his hoodie and sweats that his reflexes are too slow, he doesn’t notice the figure in the corner of his eye until he’s being yanked back into the shadows and slammed up against the brick wall face first.

“Who the hell --” He stops short, breathing in the thick scent of cigarettes and leather. _Jason._

He’s guessing Jason didn’t appreciate his request earlier to stay out of _his_ case and has another opinion on the matter, probably something involving a body count. See, their conversations usually end up one of two ways: bloody or -- well actually Tim has yet to have a conversation with Jason that didn’t end up with one or both of them bleeding. It’s just how they communicate.

“What do you want, Jason? I told you I --”

“Do you have any idea what you fucking looked like in there?” Jason growls right next to his ear, pressed up so tight against him that Tim can feel his belt buckle digging into the small of his back.

“Like a stripper, hopefully.” Tim says, ignoring Jason’s obvious attempt at goading him into a fight. He’s too tired for this shit right now. “Since, you know, that was my-”

“Shut up, oh my god shut up. Just --” Jason groans, presses Tim harder against the brick. It’s cold and wet against his face and he tries not to think about how disgusting it is. “I almost came in my _pants_.”

“Oh god,” Tim whispers, suddenly realizing this is decidedly _not_ like their usual conversations.

“Grinding your tight little ass right on my dick,” He says, breath hot and sticky against Tim’s neck. “You’re not supposed to _do that_.”

Tim gulps as Jason gets his hand down the back of his sweats, dragging them halfway down and gets a handful of his ass. “You...didn’t seem to mind.”

“Mind?” Jason’s laugh is sharp in his ear. “I wanted to take my dick out right there and come all over your pretty, sparkly chest.”

“ _Jesus_.” Tim breathes out shakily.

“I can’t fucking _believe_ you ,” Jason says. “When did you get so… _fuck_.”

Tim can feel Jason jostling around behind him, thinks he hears his belt clink open, then --

“ _Christ_ yes,” Jason hisses next to his ear, cock hot and hard against Tim’s ass.

“Jason, god,” He fucking _whimpers_. “Not, not here, c’mon--”

“Yeah here,” Jason growls, fingers curling around Tim’s hips as he ruts up against him, dick already so wet and slick, just sliding over the cheeks of his ass, into the small of his back.

“God,” Tim moans quietly as Jason gets both hands on him, spreads him open. “ _Jason_.”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Keep saying my name like that, like you want me to fuck you right here in this dirty alley like the little slut you are.”

“M’not-”

“Shh,” Jason says, covering Tim’s mouth with his hand. “Just-- _god_ , I’m gonna come all over your perfect little ass.”

A helpless, pathetic _yes_ slips out of Tim’s mouth before he can fight it back, but _god_ , he’s just so fucking _hard_ and horny and yeah, maybe he did grind Jason’s dick a little too much for a lap dance and maybe it is all he’s been able to think about ever since. Sue him. Just the expression on Jason’s face when he got a look at him, when he noticed how hard Jason’s was _because_ of him, it was almost a better rush than jumping off rooftops or flying at top speed in the batmobile. But to have him like this, panting against his neck and rutting against him like some desperate, horny teenager in a back alley, it _is_ better.

“Fuck,” Jason gasps, winding his fingers in Tim’s hair, his other hand gripped so tight around Tim’s hip he’ll probably have to hide the bruises tomorrow with concealer before his shift. “Always knew you wanted this.”

Tim growls, impatient. “Just--”

His demand is cut of as Jason snakes his hand around and curls his fingers around Tim’s dick. Then they’re moving together, Tim bucking into Jason’s fist, Jason shoving him into the brick with each thrust, grinding and humping and thrusting until Tim slams his palm against the wall and comes in Jason’s hand, biting down on his lip until he draws blood.

“One day,” Jason murmurs against the shell of his ear. “I’m gonna make you _scream_.”

On Tim’s very audible moan, Jason gets a hand around himself and all it takes is one jerk and he’s fucking _gone_ , digging his forehead in between Tim’s shoulder blades and coming all over the little dimples in his back and the crease of his ass, as promised.

They stay like that, Jason a solid weight against him and breathing against his neck, for only a few seconds, just long enough for Jason to catch his breath. Then he’s backing up, tucking himself in and zipping his pants, leaving Tim to pull his sweats up to cover his ass, and when Tim turns around to say...fuck if he knows, actually - Jason’s gone. Fucking ninja training.

“See you next time, baby bird,” an amused voice says from somewhere above, followed by the sound of heavy boots on metal grates.

Tim sighs, grimacing as he walks to his motorcycle. If you had asked him earlier how he thought his night might end, driving home with Jason Todd’s come drying on his back wouldn’t have made it on the list of possible outcomes.

“Look at yourself,” he mutters, checking out his reflection in the side mirror. His cheeks are all flushed, one of them scraped from being shoved roughly against the brick too many times, his bottom lip cracked and swollen from where he bit it, and there’s glitter in his hair. “Look at your choices.”

The engine roars to life beneath him

Interesting night.


End file.
